


After the Battle

by spilled_notes



Series: Mad March Prompt Challenge [13]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6303181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt 'having their hair washed by the other'.  Here, a universe away, Minerva is just a woman, not a teacher, and Esme does what she can to ease her grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Battle

Minerva appears in Esme’s kitchen, bloody and dusty and trembling, robes torn and tendrils of hair escaping her usually neat bun. Esme is in her rocking chair, wide awake, waiting. They’ve become attuned to each other’s magic over the years, enough that she could feel it surging even from another universe. It’s been building and building, until tonight it was so strong she’s amazed it hasn’t seeped through.

She staggers but Esme catches her before she can fall, lowers them both to the floor and holds her tight.

‘It’s over,’ she murmurs, and Esme nods.

They stay there until old bones protest at the cold, hard floor.

‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ Esme says softly.

‘I can do it,’ Minerva protests. She reaches for her wand, but Esme snatches it away.

‘You’ve done quite enough magic for tonight,’’ she says firmly. ‘Let me.’

Creakily she stands, heaves Minerva to her feet, leads her to the laundry room and pushes her into a chair. While she waits for water to heat over the fire she begins to unpin Minerva’s long hair, ebony and silver dulled by dust from the stones of her beloved school.

‘Is there anything left?’ she asks quietly.

Minerva nods. ‘We can rebuild it.’

‘And the boy?’

‘He survived. Many didn’t.’

Esme squeezes her shoulder. ‘I’m glad you did. They’ll be in good hands.’

Minerva sighs, touches her hand briefly. She allows Esme to soak her hair, to lather it with herb-scented soap and then run her fingers through the strands, washing out the stains of the battle, short nails massaging her scalp.

She doesn’t bother to fight the tears. Here, a universe away from Hogwarts and her responsibilities, she’s just a woman. As Esme rinses her hair carefully and begins to rub it dry with an old, worn towel, tears stream down her face. Tears for all those they’ve lost, for those who are left behind. For the students she couldn’t manage to protect, who are damaged and scarred and have lost their childhoods.

Esme says nothing. She’s never seen the use of platitudes: what’s the point of saying something’s all right when it isn’t? Instead, surprisingly nimble fingers braid clean, damp hair then gently coax Minerva up. She takes her hand, leads her to the low-ceilinged bedroom, swiftly removes her ruined robes and settles her into bed, where she curls into a tight ball.

Slipping under the quilt beside her, Esme reaches to gently touch her mind. Human minds are vague and confusing, yes, but right now Minerva is filled with so much grief that it’s easy for her to pull at the strands, to gather them together and encircle them with calmness and love, to carefully soothe a little of it away.

Gradually Minerva uncurls and nestles closer, seeking the comfort of her steady arms. There will be little enough time for weakness or comfort when she goes back. Maybe Esme can give her enough strength to get through the coming days in one piece.


End file.
